The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin (4 page)

"Understood."

Tassin shot
Pervor a disgusted look and quit the cell, ordering the guard
outside to bring food and water as she left. The soldier glanced in
and gaped at the strangely dressed man standing beside the open
casket. He did not dare to question the Queen, however, and left to
do as she bid. Pervor stepped closer to the strange warrior.

"What are your
orders?"

The warrior
turned his head to face Pervor, staring through him. "On command,
seek the area known as the Death Zone and destroy it."

Pervor nodded.
"I know that you are programmed to obey me as well as the Queen, so
be ready for new orders."

"Understood."

The old advisor
smiled with grim satisfaction and extinguished some of the torches
before leaving, passing the guard returning with the food and water
Tassin had ordered.

As the elderly
man’s footsteps faded down the corridor, the guard placed the tin
plate and cup on the floor, glancing at the motionless cyber. When
the man retreated, the cyber scanned its biological data banks for
information on medieval societies. After updating its situational
information to conform to its observations, the cyber exercised the
host body, going through a series of slow movements designed to
flex every muscle and relieve the stiffness that had pervaded the
joints during the long cold sleep from which it had just been
roused. When that was done, it ate the congealed food and drank the
water, then attended to the body's other functions. Its immediate
needs met, the cyber assumed a standard resting stance beside the
casket, hands clasped behind its back and legs slightly apart.

Tassin strode
through the cold corridors to her bedroom and paced the floor,
angry and afraid. The fire that blazed in the gemereye fireplace
did not cheer her, and the glowing green stones did not please her
as they usually did. Thick woollen rugs muffled her steps, and her
hunting dogs slunk from the tapestry-hung room, sensing her anger.
She had only five hundred and seventy soldiers in the castle, and
two knights. The rest of her army had gone forth to fight the
armies of the three kings. Since Torrian was on her doorstep, they
had been routed and probably slaughtered, her generals captured or
dead. Tomorrow, Torrian would demand her surrender, but she would
fight and die with her men, by her own hand if necessary. She was
in a poor tactical position. The castle's defences were good, but
three armies would overwhelm it.

Thinking of the
man in the dungeon, she wondered why Manutim had given him to her.
One warrior would do her no good, she needed several thousand, at
least. She did not know what she had been expecting, something
magical, perhaps, but certainly more than one mere man. Tassin
paced about until the candles spluttered, then lay on her huge
canopied bed and closed her eyes.

Chapter Two

A
lady-in-waiting's hysterical cries roused Tassin from a deep sleep
when the woman ran into the Queen's bedchamber, hands flapping.

"Majesty!
Majesty! King Torrian attacks! We are doomed!"

Tassin sat bolt
upright, finding herself still dressed in her blood-stained
clothes. She rubbed bleary eyes as the woman wept and ran around
the room, flapping her hands. Tiring of the racket, Tassin rose and
grabbed the hysterical girl, putting an end to her shrieks with a
slap. The girl gasped, sagged and snivelled, clutching her
cheek.

The faint
sounds of battle came from outside, distant shouts and screams of
dying men mingled with the clash of arms and the hiss of arrows.
The thick castle walls had prevented the noise from waking her, and
she cursed. Her knights, it seemed, preferred her to stay abed
while they fought, perhaps hoping that Torrian would wake her when
he claimed his bride. Why did they not just roll out a red carpet
and invite him in?

A knock made
her glance around as Royanne entered, looking pale but composed.
"Are you well this morning, My Queen?"

"No. I am
awakened by a brainless female with hysterics to find my castle
besieged, and no one even thought to wake me when it started. When
did it start?"

"Just before
dawn."

"And of course
it is not going well."

Royanne shook
her head. "There are too many of them."

"Oh, God."
Tassin sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands.

"Will you have
some breakfast, My Queen?"

"How can you
think of breakfast at a time like this?"

"You still have
to eat. A bath and a new dress will make you feel better." Royanne
jerked her head at the snivelling girl, who scurried out.

"And smell
better when Torrian claims me?"

Royanne sat
beside her, sliding a plump arm around her shoulders. "Now, now. If
you accept one of the others, Torrian will have to withdraw."

"How nice. A
husband who sleeps with his hounds, as well as every wench in his
kingdom, or one so old that he sucks up his food through a tube and
is seldom sober. A good choice."

"Better than
one who will ravish and beat you."

Tassin sighed.
"I would rather marry a peasant."

"Don't be like
that, my dear."

"Did you love
your husband when you married him?"

Royanne nodded.
"Of course."

"So why can I
not marry for love?"

"Because you're
a queen, little one."

Tassin rubbed
her eyes. "It is not fair."

"Life seldom
is."

The young Queen
stood, straightening her shoulders. "I am going to see what is
happening outside."

"You should
stay here, Majesty, it's not safe out there."

"I do not
care."

Pulling on a
fur-lined jacket, she left Royanne gazing after her with deep
concern and marched down the corridor that led to the battlements,
ignoring the frantic cries of the four ladies-in-waiting who
crowded it. When she pushed open the door at the top of the last
set of stairs, the sights, sounds and smells of the battle almost
overwhelmed her, forcing her to pause.

The sharper
sounds of combat close at hand underscored a distant roar, and
crimson splattered the castle's stones. She stepped out into the
cold dawn wind, gazing around in the crisp light of a sky that
blushed pink with bright streaks of sunrise. Bodies sprawled across
the battlements, arrows sprouting from them like weird spines. Some
still groaned and twitched, others lay still, their limbs twisted
grotesquely. The stench of death and smoke fouled the air.

Tassin almost
slipped on the blood-slimed stones as she headed for Sir Duxon, who
issued orders to bewildered captains while arrows hissed overhead
in a deadly rain. A wall of soldiers held the attackers at bay,
defending the doorway through which she had just emerged. Sir Tyron
stood beside Duxon, his tall, slender frame resplendent in polished
armour. Tyron had been her father's champion and was now hers, the
finest knight in all the land, sharp of eye and mind, strong and
loyal. She had first seen him on the summer's day when he had won a
jousting competition and her father had knighted him. He was now
thirty, a quiet, self-effacing man whose skill with sword and lance
had earned him the respect of his peers and the awe of the
masses.

Tyron turned
pale blue eyes upon her and bowed, sweeping her dirty garb with a
warm glance. His eyes twinkled as he smiled, his helmet's chin
guard hiding the rest of his face. She remembered it well, a
handsome visage that a broken nose and a habit of cocking one brow
made somewhat raffish. A bloody sword dangled from one fist, and
splatters of gore streaked his armour. Sir Duxon, by contrast, was
unsullied, his weapon still in its scabbard.

Bitterness
tinged Duxon's faded brown eyes as he dismissed the captains and
turned to bow to her. She surveying the carnage. A desperate battle
was being lost on the walls, where red-liveried invaders swarmed up
notched tree trunks and makeshift ladders, pouring onto overcrowded
battlements. A seething melee of sword-swinging men surged back and
forth, stabbing and slashing with wild abandon.

The clash of
steel was almost deafening, and the sheer brutality of their
struggle chilled her stomach and made it squirm. Her men fought
savagely, but the attackers swamped them, forcing them to give
ground. Even as she watched, a dozen of her soldiers fell amongst
the piles of dead already littering the bloody stones. Wondering
what had happened to the moat, she went to the crenulations and
peered down. A section was filled in, and from this platform the
invaders mounted the ladders. The area was a quagmire, but men
rushed about dumping fresh soil to harden the ground. Her archers
were too busy to shoot the sappers, their fire concentrated on the
enemy warriors on the battlements. She met Duxon's accusing
gaze.

"They did it
last night," he stated, forced to raise his voice in order to be
heard over the battle's clamour. "They killed the sentries with
crossbows. My Queen, defeat is inevitable, surrender now and save
these men."

Tassin scowled.
"How dare you dictate to me, Duxon? I will not marry a rapist, to
be beaten and abused by him!"

"Then marry
Grisson. He is an old man, you will be a widow soon enough."

"Never! He is
revolting, toothless! He stinks of age and corruption."

Duxon's face
sagged into resentful lines. "Those men are dying for your whimsy.
When the battle is over, Torrian will have you, for it is he who is
outside the gate. Then you will have no choice."

Tassin narrowed
her eyes as an arrow whizzed past, dangerously close. She ignored
it, but Duxon flinched.

Tyron's soft
voice spoke beside her. "It is not your place to speak to the Queen
in such a tone, Duxon." Tassin glanced at him, finding his eyes on
Duxon. "'Tis her choice whether to fight, and your duty to
obey."

"As I do!"
Duxon blustered.

"I have yet to
see you draw your blade this morn."

"My blade will
drink enemy blood soon enough, Tyron."

Tassin gazed up
at Tyron. "You see no folly in my choice, then?"

Her champion
bowed. "Majesty, the battle is lost, and with it, our lives.
Whether this be folly or fate I know not, but we cannot keep you
safe."

"When the
castle falls I shall fight beside my men until I die." She turned
back to Sir Duxon. "So shall the last warrior queen perish, Duxon,
fighting beside her men for freedom. I will not be a queen in name
only, stripped of my power, abused and held prisoner. Torrian will
bear the shame of my death, and my cousin will rule. At least
Torrian will have no wish to marry him."

"My Queen!"
Duxon looked anguished. "You are young and headstrong, death is not
the answer. Life is too precious to squander."

Tassin raised
her chin. "I prefer death to any of those three, and the choice is
mine."

The old knight
gazed at her, his despair and disapproval clearly written in his
eyes. She glanced at Tyron, and found the same despair in her
champion's gaze. They knew this war was lost, and clearly longed to
save her. Duxon might give in to the urge, but Tyron would not go
against his queen. Duxon glanced at Tyron and shook his head, and
Tyron frowned.

As Duxon
stepped towards Tassin, an arrow thudded into his chest, punching
through his armour. He staggered, his eyes widening, then dropped
to his knees. Raising his head, he rasped, "Flee, My Queen! Save
yourself!"

Tassin stood
frozen with horror and shock as Duxon's eyes rolled back and he
crashed onto the stones. A pang of sorrow shot through her, then
her eyes were drawn back to the battle. Men fell screaming as they
were hacked down, and swords clashed with vicious metallic clangs
or found their mark with meaty thuds. Many of her soldiers broke
and ran, only to be cut down from behind.

The remainder
fought to defend her, holding the invaders at bay at great cost to
themselves. The stench of blood and spilt bowels sickened her, and
the sight of her men writhing in agony filled her with rage. Tassin
drew her sword with a hiss and headed for the melee. Tyron strode
beside her, raising his bloody blade. A rumble of chains told her
that the drawbridge was down and the invaders who swarmed into the
courtyard were winching up the portcullis. The castle had fallen
and her fate was sealed.

Pervor stood in
the doorway and gazed at his queen, admiring her determination.
Tassin might be too diminutive to ever be considered a warrior
queen, but she did not lack courage. She strode towards the mass of
fighting men, her soldiers surrounding her in a wall of slashing
steel. Tyron's sword became a silver blur as he hacked and parried,
thrust and blocked, dead bodies piling up at his feet. The sight of
the prize spurred on the invaders, who fought with renewed vigour,
pushing back the defenders. Tyron staggered as a blade slipped
under his guard from behind, piercing his armour. Even the best
swordsman could not hope to win against so many.

The aged
advisor had spent a sleepless night pondering his best course of
action, torn between obeying his queen and his late king. She was
determined to die rather than marry a man she hated, while King
Litham had only wanted his daughter to be safe and happy. Pervor
was reluctant to unleash Manutim's magical warrior because Tassin
would, in all likelihood, hate him for interfering and, if all did
not go well, probably have him executed for disobedience. A slight
hope that she would see reason when confronted with the battle's
bloody slaughter and accept one of the kings had kept him in check.
However, she clearly intended to go through with her childish
threat to kill herself, or try, at least. The risk to her life was
too great. He must take action, no matter what the
consequences.